Venus Revealed
by kasey8473
Summary: Part five uploaded. Adhemar finally wins Jocelyn after ten years have gone by. Complete
1. Part One

Title: Venus Revealed

Chapter: 1

Author: Kasey

Email: kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Adhemar finally wins Jocelyn after ten years have gone by.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and I don't own them in any way, shape, or form.

Pairing: Jocelyn/Adhemar

Notes: I'd swear nothing rated 'R' ever gets read around here. Rating changed. As with 'Measure of a Man', anything higher than PG-13 will be in full at my site.

~~~~~~~~~~

I'm getting too old for this, Nicholas Adhemar thought, standing with an impassive face as two squires strapped his armor on. He was still mostly unbeatable in the tournament circuit, yet not nearly as much as a decade earlier. There were younger knights who wanted to win more than he and had the sheer drive and determination to unhorse him. There were always more young men wanting to make a name for themselves as Champion and possibly even emulate the legendary William Thatcher by both unhorsing Count Adhemar and winning a title. Such scandals had become common place over the years; peasant men infiltrating the tournaments and even a few deluded young girls playing at being knights. The men had been placed in the stocks and the girls sold off by their masters.

He'd bought a couple of the girls himself to work in his kitchens.

It was funny how age could shift a man's focus and make him peer back in time at the follies of his youth with a curl of disgust to his lip. He had spent a lifetime as a soldier, full of piss and vinegar, entrenched in the immoral practices of the mercenaries he'd led, fighting for the pleasure of fighting, raping on occasion and pillaging to add to his family coffers -- not that that raiding had done him any good in the long run, since his departed bitch of a wife had run through his money as fast as she could get her hands on it.

The past, _his_ past, disgusted him. He'd squandered his youth away and had nothing to show for it but two daughters and a reputation as a hard task master. The sincere need for a male heir hit him hard in the gut daily now. His brothers had all died, then his uncles, the Angel of Death treading among the boughs of his family with war and sickness on his scythe, killing all men save Nicholas. He was the last of his line. There were not even any bastard boys left. They too had succumbed to Death's call. Who would inherit his holds when he went into the cold embrace of that hovering Angel?

Genevieve and Ana? No, girls wouldn't inherit his lands, no matter how dear they were to him. He sighed. He was not a young man any more, nor did he have the wealth left to attract a financially profitable wife. All he could truly hope for was to play the games well this season and catch the eye of some pretty young thing who could give him sons. Sons could eventually fill the coffers with profitable marriages. It was a gamble, but what in life wasn't?

His hazel gaze slid in lazy sweeps over the crown milling along the street, coming to rest on one small boy. I'm being watched. His lips twitched. How amusing.

The boy was perhaps eight years of age, dressed in fine clothes that showed just a bit of wear, as though he had played hard already that morning. The boy crossed his arms and made his way through the crowd to look up at Adhemar. Adhemar returned the stare. There was a thoughtful turn to the boy's brow. "You're a knight." He proclaimed, pride of his conclusion in his gaze.

"You're correct." Adhemar replied, studying the boy's almost fine features curiously. Something he saw there was familiar, yet he could not place him. Did he know the boy from somewhere?

"My father was a knight."

Past tense. Either the man had died, or was considerably older than the boy's mother. Either was possible, he knew. Many young women were married to men much older than they were. He was nearing that milestone himself, the old age of thirty-three upon him in a few days. Adhemar almost shuddered at the thought of being considered 'old'. He considered himself still in his prime, yet reality had to be faced. Whatever he considered himself, there were those whose opinion differed. To the world, he was an old man, and one with little to entice a wealthy family to him.

In the distance, a woman's voice, slightly frantic, could be heard calling out, "Miles! Miles!"

"Is your father here?" Adhemar enquired politely. Carrying on the conversation was the least he could do seeing as the boy had started it.

The boy sighed and glanced in the direction the woman's voice was coming from. "No. He died last year. I'm here with my mother and her maid."

"Miles! Where are you?"

Adhemar almost smiled. The boy was likely Miles, sneaking away from the two women to find some excitement near the arena. He could sympathize. As a boy, he'd craved excitement, hence his eventual career as a mercenary soldier with the Free Companies. He'd gotten all the excitement he could want there, traveling the world and fighting for whoever hired him, working himself up the ladder of the ranks until he commanded his own army of men. He'd had no true loyalty. Plain political loyalty didn't get a man paid. If England wanted him, he worked for England. If France wanted him, he worked for France. Whoever gave the biggest financial incentive. "Is that your mother calling you?"

The boy stepped closer, slipping around the squires to circle Adhemar. "No, that's just Chrissy. She worries too much. She thinks someone is going to run off with me. I'm not in any danger. You're a knight. My father once told me that knights are sworn to protect women and children from danger. You'd protect me then, if something did happen."

The urge to laugh built up in his chest, Adhemar tamping it down. Whoever his father was, he'd given the boy only the idealized chivalrous code. Most knights Adhemar knew were like him in some way: mercenary, cocky and not given to saving inquisitive young children from dangers untold. That this boy had such blind trust in him was actually somewhat flattering. "You snuck off when her back was turned I take it?"

"She was looking at girl stuff. She promised we'd come to the arena and watch the jousts, but she kept saying 'later'. Always 'later, Miles. I have shopping to do for your mother.' Like my mom couldn't shop all by herself. She's perfectly capable. I've seen her."

"Well," The squires finished with his arms, he stepped off the block and crouched down. "I understand. Girl stuff can be boring, but you shouldn't worry them unduly. Women are delicate often times and worry when there is no reason to do so. Humor them on occasion and be patient."

Miles opened his mouth to reply, expression indicating an argument on the subject was pending, but was enveloped in the teal blue fabric of a woman's cloak.

"There you are!" A woman said in an exasperated tone. " I'm sorry, my lord, he wanders off." The last word of her sentence trailed away into silence, the woman swallowing loudly.

"Get off me, Chrissy!" Miles hissed, squirming under the grip of her hands. "Let go!"

Adhemar stood, taking in the slender form and chestnut brown hair that fell straight to the woman's hips. The face was more than familiar, though a decade had passed since he'd last seen her. "Christiana."

"Count Adhemar." Her eyes wide and wary, she inclined her head a fraction. "I'm sorry if Miles was bothering you." She stood also, keeping one hand on the boy.

Miles snorted in disgust. "Bothering!"

"He wasn't bothering me. I enjoyed our brief chat." _Chrissy_. He should have guessed. He also should have guessed who the boy was. How could he have not realized he was Miles Thatcher? The boy's features were William Thatcher all over again.

Her gaze darted around them, taking in the tents with the Adhemar crest. "You're competing?"

He nodded, stepping a bit away from her so the final touches of his armor could be put on. "Yes. In moments actually."

Christiana took a few steps back. "Oh. Well...good luck in the tournament."

Before he could say anything more, Christiana dragged the boy away, though it was obvious Miles didn't want to leave. He dragged his heels and once even dropped himself bodily to the dust. The woman was stronger than she looked however, lifting him as though he weighed very little and carrying him away until the crowd swallowed up their progress down the street.

Adhemar permitted himself a smile at that intrusion of the past into the present. Sometimes he wondered what had become of William Thatcher and the prize he had snatched from Adhemar. Thatcher had never showed up on the tournament circuit again, dropping from that crowd to remain in London. What he did there was a guess. For all Adhemar knew, Sir William and Lady Jocelyn had lived a life of luxury at court. He'd wondered on the beauteous Jocelyn only a few times over the years, speculating his life might have turned out different if he'd managed to snare her instead of catching Rochelle's eye. Other than his private speculations though, he hadn't bothered to find out their fates. 

Thatcher was dead, and Jocelyn was back in town.

He felt no satisfaction in the death of his old tournament nemesis. Thatcher had proved to be a man of decent character in the end, a man more than worthy to be called an opponent, unlike so many Adhemar had come across since then. Looking back, the passing years mellowing his view of the past, Adhemar could admit that he had been fairly beaten.

Trumpets sounded in the distance and he walked towards the arena. Germaine was there already. Time to show all that Count Adhemar could still win a match, old or not.

~~~~~~~~~~

The things a woman has to do, Jocelyn Thatcher reflected, slipping into the chair she had been led to. On her brother's orders, she'd dressed in the most fashionable and sensational gown and surcoat she had left in her wardrobe. She was to be all sweetness and light and enticing femininity. For years, she'd managed to avoid the full restrictions placed upon women, those horrid man's commands such as being silent and adoring to her lord and master and keeping her opinions in her own mind. Her father had often been amused by his forward daughter, encouraging her to use her mind. He delighted in provoking her, much to her brother Thomas' dismay. Thomas was of the school of thought that a woman was supposed to be a pretty object useful only to bear sons.

With Will gone, Jocelyn had no choice but to do as Thomas told her. He was her closest living male relative. Her friends, all save Christiana, were gone. The home and wealth Will had built for them seized by Thomas to add to his own coffers. Technically, her son Miles should have inherited it all upon Will's death, but Thomas was adept at finding ways around those troublesome legal matters that would normally keep him from taking that wealth.

Jocelyn was bereft and dependent on Thomas for her well being. Not a good thing with a brother who hated his only sister. She was to find a man and marry him. Or rather, Thomas was to find her a man and marry her to him. She would have little say in the choice, but Thomas' malice towards her indicated he'd pick the most loathsome specimens he could find at tournament. And there were several men here that Jocelyn would as soon slit her own throat than wed.

The tables were filling up for this banquet. Christiana had opted not to come with her, insisting she didn't trust Thomas' servants to watch Miles. Jocelyn's gaze roamed the tabletop, seeing, but not registering, the fancy centerpieces at precisely figured intervals and the elaborate place settings. Christiana missed her own children and her husband, it was painfully clear. She and Roland had been blessed with three boys and one girl over nine years, but when Thomas had come and begun mistreating the entire staff, Roland had acted as peacemaker, staying as long as he could before, like the rest, he left. He'd taken their children and now resided at one of Princess Joan's homes in England, taken in because Will was fondly remembered by the Princess. Any servant of his was welcome.

Christiana wouldn't leave Jocelyn. She'd refused. Having grown up with Jocelyn, she knew the depths to which Thomas would go in his hatred and wouldn't abandon her mistress to that.

Jocelyn blinked back tears, plastering a tiny smile on her lips should Thomas be watching her. Friendship. Over the years, Christiana had become more than a maid. She'd become a trusted friend and now Jocelyn knew the full measure of friendship. She also understood why the others had gone when they did. 

Wat, not one to keep silent in his opinions, would have seen the stocks within a week of Thomas' arrival. Indeed, that first day had seen him at the very limits of his restraint and he'd had to be physically restrained to keep him from seeking Thomas out and bludgeoning him to within an inch of his life. Jocelyn didn't know where he'd gone, but Roland had seemed to have some idea, insisting Wat could be called back should circumstances improve. Kate had left soon after, ending up in the Chaucer residence, a home run by Philippa, Geoff's wife. Roland was the last to go.

"Lady Jocelyn."

A familiar voice intruded upon her thoughts, a voice she'd not heard in years. She looked at the seat beside her, unsurprised that the banquet host had chosen to seat her with Count Adhemar. Her smile faltered, but only a bit. "Count Adhemar." It amazed her that after a full decade had passed, some people still hoped for a last gasp of scandal from them. She and Adhemar were on display. Their seats, at the very end of one long table, were set apart from their table companions by one of those large centerpieces she'd glanced over moments earlier. They were to share a cup and be gossip fodder for all who watched.

"The years have been kind to you. The bloom of girlhood still lingers on your cheeks."

It could not be said that he lied to her of her beauty. Jocelyn was well aware that she still compared favorably to the young women she saw here. However, that fresh bloom of girlhood had long ago faded and she knew it. Her hair was artfully arranged to hide the strands of silver slowly lightening the raven tresses and treasured cosmetics hid the wear on skin that was ten years older than the last time he'd seen her. No, he didn't _lie_ exactly.

A servant girl filled their cup with wine and moved across the room towards Thomas' table. At him, she paused. Jocelyn saw her brother look their way and quickly redirected her own gaze at her companion. "Your tongue has grown silver. I don't recall such compliments slipping from you years ago."

A mirthless smile tugged the corners of his mouth up. "As we mature, we develop the skills we need for survival, do we not?"

"That we do." She had to agree there. Survival was utmost in her thoughts much of late. She had once thought her fairy tale ending would last forever, but had woken from that ideal dream most rudely with the play half over and her prince dead. Survival was what got her through each day now and survival would carry her on.

Adhemar was only a little changed himself. Surreptitiously, Jocelyn studied him. There were tiny lines beside his eyes, possibly laugh lines, though she couldn't imagine him laughing except in mocking amusement. The change that startled her the most though, was in his eyes. There was a weariness there that she hadn't seen before, a resignation. It was as though he too, was merely surviving and no longer truly living.

As dishes of food were brought out, she tried to remember what she'd heard about him over the years. He'd married Rochelle de Puis, had two daughters and.... What? What else was there? She smoothed her skirts as she thought on the matter. Rochelle had died, the rumors surrounding the woman making Jocelyn sick to her stomach. Apparently, Rochelle had only been concerned with her pleasures. Motherhood was not for her. She chose to go to court and gorge herself on food, wine and men, leaving her family at home. Her sexual depravities were sickening.

Adhemar began dishing up their food. She watched his lean hands work at slicing off the choicest bits of meat and set them on her plate. "I heard of your wife's death. I'm sorry she died."

"I'm not." He paused and Jocelyn realized her disbelief must be fully displayed on her face. "Don't look so shocked, Lady Jocelyn. My marriage was purely a political alliance. Rochelle and I barely tolerated each other long enough for her to give me two daughters. I'm not even certain they're really mine. Thankfully, she kept herself to dark haired lovers." The dish was passed and the next brought. "She went off to court, leaving two young babies at home with me, picked up some exotic disease from an ill-chosen lover, then died of it."

It wasn't that he didn't appear upset in the slightest about his wife's death that shocked her, but that he was so cheerfully cavalier about it.

"The rumors of my thankfully departed wife are all true. Every last one. She was a bitchy, vengeful, scheming, promiscuous spendthrift and I'd have to be daft to be sorry she's dead."

Jocelyn sipped from their cup, wiped where her lips had touched the rim with a cloth. She couldn't hide her amazement and didn't try. "I'm surprised you put up with her behavior. I didn't think you the sort of man to sit back and just let your wife cuckold you."

"What else could I do?" He scooted her plate close to her. "In a political alliance, the one who needs the alliance the most has the least power, and as of that fall.... I needed the alliance most desperately. With Edward sick and becoming increasingly irrational from that sickness the Free Companies weren't likely to be paid by him. The war in Castille cost him quite a bit of money. I needed political favor from somewhere and Rochelle's family was rather active in Charles' court. She was pretty and it wasn't until we were wed that I found out they'd married her to me to keep her from going through all _their_ money."

"Charming." As he spoke, the bud of an idea began to form in her mind, blossoming forth a solution for her dilemma, one that she knew Christiana would be horrified at.

He took a bite, chewed and swallowed. "And what of you? I heard only today that your husband is dead."

Jocelyn tried the meat, then the pudding, mulling over her answer. If she planned it right, she could thwart Thomas at his own game and still come out as mistress of her own destiny, with her life intact. The more she thought on the plan, the better she liked it. She'd cheated destiny once before, maneuvering events as best she could for the outcome she wanted, so why not do it again? Why did she have to sit back while Thomas directed her life?

"I, Count, am in the market for a husband."

Adhemar's gaze lifted from his plate, darting to her with a nonchalant air. In those hazel orbs, she saw the spark of interest she'd been hoping for.

Jocelyn smiled her first genuine smile in weeks. The hunt was on.


	2. Part Two

Title: Venus Revealed

Chapter: 2

Author: Kasey

Email: kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Adhemar finally wins Jocelyn after ten years have gone by.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine and I don't own them.

Pairing: Jocelyn/Adhemar

~~~~~~~~~~

"Your brother has offered you to me." He put it to her as bluntly as he could, watching her face intently. She wasn't surprised, giving a slow nod, still staring out the window, her arms crossed over her breast.

"He's always felt our father was a fool not to advance the family through me. They argued up until the day father died. Then Thomas waited. He came to England and he watched. After Will died, I lost everything."

Adhemar moved to her, stopping just shy of reaching her. She was in a pensive mood, that lively sparkle he'd seen at the banquet gone, her lovely face set in a thoughtful frown. "What did you lose?" Ten years earlier, she would have whirled with an angry look, asking how he could not see her loss. Now, she only shrugged apathetically, tilting her head to one side, still staring out the window. What was she looking at? The view outside, or the remembrances of a happier time in the past?

"Aside from my husband? My home. My friends. Thomas drove Roland, Wat and Kate away with his abuse. Roland stayed as long as he did only for Christiana. She's refused to leave me. He took their children and waits for her to join him." An almost defeated sigh left her parted lips, her shoulders sagging. "I have little left, only a son who misses having a father."

"I can give you a home," he said, raising his brows and waiting for an answer. When none was forthcoming, Adhemar leaned against the rough stone wall beside the window. "I would even bring your friends back to you if they are willing."

Her head turned, her glance going up and down him several times, eyes narrowing. "Can you give me love, for that is what I miss most in my current existence."

He blinked. Love? "You married for love and it hurt you in the end, yet still you want that emotion?" Unfathomable. Women were the oddest of creatures, to venture repeatedly after something that gave them immeasurable pain.

"Yes."

The hope on her face wrenched at him the tiniest bit, though he didn't understand it at all. He couldn't love her. Indeed, was he even capable of love? He'd never really given the matter much thought. Love had never entered into his life equation, even when he'd married Rochelle. "What is your definition of that word love?" he queried. "I saw you a decade ago play William Thatcher and myself as a puppeteer might. He won you in the end and you called his labors for you love. By that, I can only conclude that love to you means a blind devotion."

Her expression faltered, the surprise flickering through her gaze quickly masked. That glimmer jolted him out of any need to pity her situation. Taking a mental step back, he realized she was going through the motions, giving him what he expected to hear from her lips. She was _acting_. The thought amused him.

"I won't give you blind devotion, Lady Jocelyn. Don't let the possibility of that enter into your mind. You would not rule me as I have come to find you ruled your husband. He followed your definition of love until he keeled over and died from it. I'm most definitely not William Thatcher."

With a squaring of her shoulders, Jocelyn turned to face him, looking him directly in the eyes, a bold move many women avoided. "Very well. I don't truly want love. I've had it. Once is enough for the pain of a love loss."

"Oh?"

"To completely honest, Count Adhemar, and I know your ego can take it, you are the lesser of the evils my brother would align me with. Besides, it seems to me that you need me just as much as I need you."

A satisfied grin curved her mouth. Intriguing. What did she mean by that? "Do explain. The suspense of waiting for your conclusions is maddening." This was what he wanted to see, a woman in full and not some naïve young girl with romantic dreams clouding her eyes; a woman willing to bargain and shrewd in doing so. "Explain how I need you, and not the obvious need please."

His innuendo made her eyes widen. "It's quite simple really. With Rochelle dead and only girls from her, her family will have nothing to do with you. They don't claim you. Now," She laid a finger on her cheek as though in deep thought. "Correct me if I'm wrong. To stay in royal favor, you need a royal connection. I have a connection. Granted, it's in the English royal house and not the French. Prince Edward is dead, yes, but not the tie that Will formed there. We were often welcomed by Joan in their house. I could easily go to her if I chose and be welcomed anywhere.... I and my..._husband_."

An accurate accounting. She'd certainly thought it through. "And?"

"You need a mother for Genevieve and Ana and a wife to provide you with more children, possible male heirs to inherit your holdings."

"You only had one child with Thatcher," he pointed out with a shrug.

"A mutual decision, one that seemed right at the time. There are ways to prevent conception. Not always the most comfortable of course, but they work. Don't tell me that Count Adhemar, the _purported_ great lover, is ignorant of such things?" She raised her brows in triumph over her dig at his reputation.

Her use of language would have given a chaperone, had there been one present, heart palpitations. No lady should speak of such things. He was delighted to find out she was not as much of a lady as he'd once thought her to be. "I'm only ignorant of things when it pleases me to play at being so."

"We would have a business arrangement, you and I." she continued, pointing a finger at him, then at herself.

"As marriage should be. Notions of love are for the young."

She nodded. "Yes. I won't ask for blind devotion, Count. However, our bargain will be with this condition: I will not be less than equal to you, for I have never been less to my husband. I would strike a bargain advantageous to us both, more so than the one you shared with Rochelle. You keep me in the life I want, and I will be the loving wife in public you've never had, bearing you children until you say 'enough'. Yes?" She tilted her head in a coquettish gesture. "You keep your end and I will keep mine."

Her gaze was intriguingly cold and calculating with a bit of arrogance thrown in. Very enticing, extremely titillating, this glimpse of determination to match his own. Equal? How equal _was_ equal exactly? It was one of those words that could be twisted to suit his whim. She didn't specify in what area she wanted that equality. "Well, Lady Jocelyn, I believe we have a bargain." Adhemar caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, gently brushing the back before releasing it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The wolfish smile he favored upon her at the conclusion of their exceptionally brief negotiations nearly made Jocelyn change her mind about this plan of hers. Over the hours following that meeting, she'd gone over their conversation in her mind, searching for something that had been said to cause that grin. It couldn't be that he'd caught her in playacting. It was after the bargain had been met that he'd grinned as though he'd won some huge battle.

"I'm meeting with Count Adhemar tomorrow morning after mass, Jocelyn. I expect to have conditions pounded out by afternoon."

The expression on Thomas' face was every bit as wolfish as Adhemar's had been. He stared at her, expectation in his eyes. Oh very well, she thought. He wanted a scene. He wanted yet another chance to show off that he was master over her. With great difficulty, she managed to suppress her sigh of boredom at this game he loved to play. Really, didn't he ever get tired of being a horse's ass? "Why even tell me? Just go and present me with a fait accompli."

He strolled to her chair, placing his hands on the arms and leaning over her. His sour breath made her wince. "You still hate him, don't you? I can tell. You tried to look happy at the banquet the other night, but I can tell there's still ill will for him in your heart."

No, brother dear, she thought, that hatred you see is for you. I forgave Adhemar long years ago for what he did. "Not that it matters to you. You'll still wed me to him."

Standing, he wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Now that was genius, don't you think? There were so many men that I knew disgusted you, but finding Count Adhemar here and looking for a wife was luck. I thought, what better future for you, than to marry the man you'd jilted ten years ago for a peasant? You hate him. I'm certain his thoughts on you aren't all warm and loving. A perfect match." He grinned. "I think I can overlook the matter of his dwindled wealth just for the pleasure of seeing you squirm."

"Does it ever bother you Thomas, how repugnant you are? A loathsome worm." Jocelyn fixed a withering glare upon him, wishing just once that God would strike Thomas with lightning.

He snorted loudly. "Says you, sister dear. I can't for the life of me see why the man wants you anyway, not after you jilted him."

"I didn't jilt him. I was never promised to him."

"Negotiations were open and nearly completed when your peasant won that joust. One letter about how you were kissing that boy before all London and father suddenly decided to take _your_ wishes into account. No, I doubt Adhemar considered himself jilted."

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. "Sarcasm doesn't become you, brother."

Thomas shrugged. "Like I care. I wonder if he'll be agreeable to a quick wedding? The sooner I get you and your brat out of my house, the better."

Jocelyn watched him saunter from the room and slowly got up from her chair. Over the course of her life, she'd often wondered just why Thomas seemed to hate her so much. True, their father had doted on her, but Thomas was the first born. He was the son. The heir. She hugged herself, willing the ever present sadness inside her to go away. The loss of Will would have been much easier to bear with friends about her. Instead, her friends were pushed away and she, Miles and Christiana were taken to the old family home. She'd already grieved enough for a lifetime. Will would want her to move on, to get back to living. He'd had such a joy for life in him, an enthusiasm for every single day that was astounding.

__

Enough of that! She couldn't be sad and bawling this night, not if she wanted to accomplish her goal.

Shaking her head, she made her way up the stairs, going into the small chamber Miles occupied. He was asleep, Christiana sitting by the fire with her embroidery, needle flashing in the firelight. Jocelyn kissed her son on the cheek, straightened the covers about him, and motioned for Christiana to follow her.

When they were in Jocelyn's chamber, she sat on the edge of her bed. "It is official. Thomas meets with Adhemar tomorrow morning. He's unbelievably smug about it too."

"Thomas or Adhemar?" Christiana asked, picking up a brush from the table and going to her mistress.

"Both, but Thomas is insufferable." Jocelyn turned so Christiana could take down her hair and brush it. She heard a long breath, as though the woman was going to speak, yet she said nothing. "Well?"

"What?"

"You've never been silent before on men, so why start now?"

"You've made up your mind. There's nothing I could say to change it." The brush was applied in long slow strokes. "Suffice it to say that I don't believe Count Adhemar is your only option. You're limiting yourself."

"Thomas limits me, Christiana. If father had been dead ten years ago, I would have been wed to Adhemar regardless of the outcome of the joust."

"But you weren't married to him. You married Sir Will. How can you go from Sir Will to Count Adhemar? I don't understand that."

Raising her hands, Jocelyn caught at Christiana's, looking over her shoulder at her. "How old am I, Christiana?"

She glanced away, then back. "Nearly thirty, my lady."

"That's right. I don't have the options I had back then. Many of the men who courted me then are married, which leaves those widowed, those much younger than me or much older. Thomas has most of the power here. He decides who is presented to me, if he presents at all before a match is made. He has at least given me the courtesy of telling me he's settled on Adhemar, though I don't trust him to stay settled on him."

Christiana stared at her for a long moment, then yanked her wrists back, eyes wide with comprehension. "Tell me you're not planning what I think you are. Tell me. Tell me you don't plan to go to _Adhemar_. I understood when you went to Sir Will, but not this."

"I need you to stay with Miles tonight." Jocelyn got up, grasped her maid's shoulders. "Please watch him for me."

"Don't do it, my lady." Christiana shook her head. "You can't get out of it then if you need to."

"I can't get out of it anyway unless Thomas breaks contract. I can only face it on my terms and on my terms it will be."

"But to go to him...." Her voice trailed off, her gaze pleading with Jocelyn to just laugh and say she'd been joking, that she wasn't serious, that she wasn't this desperate. _Desperate_.

Desperation had a way of changing one's outlook and Jocelyn's view of Adhemar had changed because of it. Christiana was right. Her mind was made up. Nicholas Adhemar was going to be her husband and that was final. Like she had done long years earlier, she was going to wrap herself up in pretty trapping and present herself as a prize. She'd talked herself into this. "He's not like I remember him. I think he's...different than he was, not as condescending. He's weary, Christiana, as I am. Now, have a bath prepared for me, then find that sheer nightdress. I'll wear it under my cloak."

Christiana's shoulders slumped. "You dishonor Sir Will's memory."

A lump formed in Jocelyn's throat, but she swallowed it, refusing to burst into tears. "Will would want me to get on with my life. To have a life of my choosing, I must settle and outmaneuver Thomas. I chose Adhemar because I know him. He's a shrewd businessman and I don't doubt that without a wife who spends his money as fast as it comes in, his fortunes will improve quickly. Rochelle hasn't been dead nine months yet. These things take time. Adhemar was here this morning. He and I have come to an agreement already."

A groan left her maid. "My lady!"

"As I said, we've come to an agreement. I'm going tonight to seal our bargain and make certain Thomas could potentially be quite embarrassed backing out of negotiations."

A sigh. Resignation played on Christiana's fine features "What time does he expect you?"

"He doesn't." That was the beauty of her plan. She would catch him by surprise. He wouldn't be expecting her to come to him. And when Thomas discovered her there in the morning....

Jocelyn stretched. It felt good to be mistress of her own destiny once more.


	3. Part Three

Title: Venus Revealed

Chapter: 3

Author: Kasey

Email: kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Adhemar finally wins Jocelyn after ten years have gone by.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine and I don't own them.

Pairing: Jocelyn/Adhemar

Notes: A word on feedback: If you like it, tell me why. If you don't, tell me why. Honest feedback is essential to any writer.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jocelyn liked to leave as little as possible to chance. She had always been that way, even as a child. There was too much that could go asunder by simply giving your life to the whim of fate. So, she plotted her way through life, choosing actions that would bring about the desired outcome. This plan of hers was one of those deliberate actions. She didn't consider herself a ruthless woman, only one who knew her mind and wouldn't take fate lying down. She saw nothing wrong with doing this. Why should men have all the fun of cheating fate?

The inn where Adhemar was staying was a nice one in comparison to many, with private rooms that were actually private, no flimsy partitions giving the illusion of separate rooms. No, each room was a room in its own right, with a door that could be barred. The inn was a new structure since Jocelyn had last been in this place. She stopped a young woman and asked for Count Adhemar, the directions she was given taking her up the stairs and to the right. His room was at the end of one long hall. There was no man on guard as she expected, the hall bereft of human life save herself.

Taking a deep breath, Jocelyn squared her shoulders and pushed aside those last lingering thoughts of her beloved dead husband. She wouldn't have them cluttering up her seduction attempt, not if she wanted to be successful in her endeavor. It could not be said that Will would be disappointed in her doing this. No, he'd known she could survive without him if need be. She was a strong woman, something he'd told her many times. The only disappointment would be if she let herself slide any further into the pit of depression she teetered on the edge of. Will would want her taken care of. Count Adhemar had the means and, truth be told, Jocelyn could understand now, after time had passed, why he'd behaved the way he had.

Passionate men often got caught up in their wants and desires, and for a man used to getting everything he wanted, losing wasn't an option. He'd come after her with a single-mindedness that was flattering in its extreme fashion. He'd given all of himself into the pursuit of her and the beating of Will. Adhemar had paid though, for that attempt on Will's life. He'd paid a thousand fold in hell with Rochelle for eight years, for it had been his spectacular loss that had brought him to Rochelle's attention.

Jocelyn raised her fist to knock and lowered it without striking the panel. There was still time to leave. He'd not heard or seen her yet. She could still return to Thomas' house and let fate and Thomas guide her life. A tear streaked down her cheek and she wiped it away. None of that, she thought. Knock and get this done with.

But she couldn't seem to raise her fist again. She stood on the threshold, swaying between staying and going, the hardest decision she'd been called to make in recent years, when the door opened, the thick wooden panel swinging wide to reveal Adhemar there. He was surprised to see her at his door at nearly midnight, his brows raising in question. "Lady Jocelyn?"

It appeared destiny approved of her plan. Arranging her features into a soft expression, she swept past him without waiting for an invitation to come in. At the center of the room, she stopped, lowering the hood of her cloak and turning to face him.

He gave her a thoughtful look, closing the door with one hand, whatever reason he'd first opened it likely forgotten. She could practically hear him wondering what she was up to. Jocelyn almost smiled at that. She'd done this sort of seduction once before, with Will, only then she'd been nervous and eager to go to her love. A cool expectancy settled within her, a numbness that eclipsed the sadness in the back of her mind. Doing this would end an old era and begin a new one in her life. 

A decade earlier she hadn't truly known what would transpire on her first attempt to seduce, but in the present, she'd had enough practice with Will during their marriage to know what to do. She had prepared herself for this far better than she had for Will.

The evening had been spent bathing and preparing herself, under Christiana's disapproving gaze. After her initial outburst, the maid hadn't said anything more regarding Count Adhemar, merely clucking her tongue and making sharp sniffing noises. Jocelyn had washed her hair and body, put on lotion, and chosen a light, exotic perfume to dab on her wrists, collarbone, the indent of her waist and behind her knees. It was not lost on her that the perfume had been Will's last gift to her before his death. She'd kept her hair loose and long and dressed in the sheerest of her nightdresses. 

There was no turning back. She was here. So why did she feel as though she had set herself adrift on a churning foreign ocean?

Several people had seen her on her way up here, people her brother might hear from. Just being alone with Adhemar was enough to secure their union, yet Jocelyn didn't want to chance Thomas changing his mind. He could do so without a single qualm. She needed something concrete. "You may bar the door," she said sweetly, using a lowered voice that came out sounding husky. "I've no plans to leave soon." Untying her cloak fastenings, Jocelyn let the heavy cloak slip from her shoulders, gathering it up and draping it over the nearest chair.

The hint of a smile was on Adhemar's lips, his gaze roaming her in a slow, lazy sweep before he turned and barred the door. "A bold move," he drawled, crossing to her.

She didn't reply, keeping her expression inviting and her hands clasped almost demurely in front of her. She held them together to hide their trembling and give warmth to her cold flesh. A coldness, _physical_ cold, was creeping over her, despite the heat she knew to be in the room. The fire was still blazing in the hearth. A gentle sweat should be dotting her brow, yet she couldn't seem to feel that heat at all. Why was she longing to put her cloak back on and leave? 

"I always knew you were bold, Lady Jocelyn." Adhemar disregarded the notion of personal space, stopping only when he was so close that she had to crane her neck back to keep looking at his face. "But this bold? Did we not strike our bargain already? Perhaps you doubt my word?"

"I don't doubt your word," she denied through lips that had begun trembling. Jocelyn forced herself to take a deep breath. Her clasped hands brushed the fabric of his un-tucked linen shirt. "We are both mature adults. I see no reason why we can't begin our union now." The heat of his body slid over her in a drowning wave, that tiny boat she imagined herself on rocking precariously. This was real. She was really here. She had placed herself in his hands.

He gave a nod, taking in every word she said with a concentration that indicated she was uttering some deep and profound idea. Black brows drew together, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I see." His hands lifted, cupped the back of her arms and slowly chafed them with warm strokes. "You're cold."

Jocelyn unclasped her hands, placing them flat on his chest. "Yes."

"I should warm you, yes? Would you like me to warm you up...Jocelyn?" That hint of a smile blossomed forth into a tiny roguish curl of his lips, his hands continuing to rub her arms. He'd omitted her title. The bait had been caught. Now, she had to reel him in. 

"Oh yes. Do." His shirt parted beneath her hands, Jocelyn slipping her hands under the fabric edges to touch his bare chest. The sprinkling of dark hairs there tickled her palm. "I would have this chill taken from me." It was too easy. 

He blinked, nodding again. "You should dress more warmly. This gown, though beautifully flattering to you, isn't appropriate for these cool nights." Warm hands left her arms, Adhemar lifting her and carrying her to his bed. The covers were turned down and inviting, Jocelyn stretching out on the soft sheets in a seductive pose, waiting for him to join her. He stripped off his shirt, tossing it carelessly towards the chair covered by her cloak. The fabric fluttered to the floor, discarded.

A sense of unreality took her over, a surreal turn to the evening. As if it wasn't surreal enough to seduce Adhemar of all people. Everything she saw became sharply in focus. Jocelyn imagined she could hear the slow thudding beat of his heart as he laid beside her. She expected him to kiss her; he was certainly close enough to her for it, but he didn't, his fingers raising to trace her features over and over again in slow swoops. His forefinger traced a path over her cheekbones, then the bridge of her nose. He curled his hand under her chin, raising it, his thumb dragging along her lower lip until that sensitive skin trembled.

Only then did he bend his head and brush his lips to hers. It wasn't a deep kiss or even a long one, but it whet her appetite. It teased her just as much as her peek-a-boo gown must be teasing him. Curiosity began in her chest, gaining ground until she wondered if a deep kiss would be as pleasant as that gentle caress. Jocelyn raised her hand, fit it to the back of his neck and yanked him back down to her.

She fulfilled her curiosity, kissing him as she wished him to kiss her and when he wasn't quick enough to respond, she eased herself up, pushing so that he was on his back. His hands were quite proper, resting on her waist as she leaned over him. She expected him to take license and explore her curves, but he didn't.

"Exceptionally bold," he murmured, studying her.

"Should I not be?" she queried, running her hand along his bare chest, fingers tracing the many scars dotting the flesh.

He chuckled, a rich sound that made her pause. Amusement was etched on his handsome features, more amusement than she thought her boldness warranted. "Oh no, I admire a bold streak in a woman. You know I _need_ you, Jocelyn, don't you?" His eyes went wide, hands squeezing her waist.

She nodded, her heart beginning to beat very fast. Something had gone wrong just now, she could feel it in the air. The quality of the tension between them had changed. But what?

"You know I _want_ you as much as I need you."

Jocelyn gave another nod, drawing her hand back from his chest. She didn't like his tone. There was a coldness growing with each word, an icy gleam bleeding into his gaze. A glance at her cloak, then the door that seemed miles away. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She'd forgotten the one thing about a passionate man she never should have forgotten: they don't take kindly to being manipulated once they realize they were being manipulated in the first place. 

He lifted her off him, Jocelyn clasping at his forearms as her balance was disrupted. "Oh!"

"I may need you and I may want you," he began, giving her a toss and removing the support of his hands. Jocelyn fell onto the mattress, Adhemar quickly straddling her, his weight pinning her firmly. He took her wrists, gently placing them on either side of her face, caught tight in his grip. "But you will not manipulate me."

Her eyes widened. Sweet Jesus help her! Jocelyn tried to free her wrist to no avail. His grip was hard, though not bruising. "Let me go," she demanded.

"Do you really want me to?" Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Do you really want me to let you go, Jocelyn? Imagine staying in Thomas' home. Picture that. Picture yourself wed to any one of those other men he's contacted. Fat, old men with a taste for women still in their prime. I can almost hear your gasps of disgust."

His breath was hot in her ear and she began to twist her body, fighting, bucking to throw him off. She already _had_ pictured that fate. "Get off me!" Her breath came in pants, Adhemar's superior strength holding where he wanted her.

"You don't want me off you. Isn't that the very reason you came here? A blind man could see your game."

"Let me go!" Jocelyn turned her face away, his lips following, trailing over her cheek and jaw.

"Answer the question. Do you really want me to? Because if I let you go Jocelyn, I will _not_ take you back. You leave now and our bargain is void. I _will_ walk away and you will be sold to the highest bidder." 

"You'd walk away? Just like that? You'd give me up?" Jocelyn went still, struggles ending with his revelation. It hadn't occurred to her that Adhemar might let her go. He'd pursued her so diligently years before.

He released her wrists, his gaze as hard as the steel of a sword. "Without a backward glance at your delectable charms. I fought over you once before. Don't flatter yourself that I'll do it again. Are we not too mature for these silly games and intrigues?"

She forced herself to meet his gaze. "Yes. You're right. No more games then." It was a conscious effort to relax her body and give him a flirtatious curl of a grin. "No, I don't want you to let me go. You've caught me and I'm yours. Now what will you do with me?" Jocelyn arched her back slightly, thrusting her breasts up at him, watching carefully to gauge his mood. A passionate man is a volatile one at times and she had no desire to be on the wrong end of that passion.

"You won't rule me, Jocelyn, I told you that once before. Get that firm in your mind. I am the head of my household. I won't let my position be usurped. Rochelle did her damndest, which was one reason she ran off to court. I wouldn't let her run the house. There will be equality, I agreed to that. But you will stop the games. I gave you my word that we had a bargain, that I would keep you in the life you want. I don't back out. Your impatience is insulting to me." He studied her a long moment, then swung off her to stand by the bedside, an enigmatic turn to his lips. "I've waited ten years for you, Jocelyn. I can wait awhile longer."

Distress shot through her. She needed the possibility of a pregnancy to keep Thomas from backing out of the contract. "Why wait? I'm here now. I'm willing."

"What's your great hurry? Why did you come here all dressed for seduction? Don't try and tell me you're overcome with lust for me, it won't work. I'm not gullible."

Jocelyn slumped back on the pillows of the bed, one of Wat's favorite rude retorts slipping from her before she could stop it.. The words made Adhemar laugh.

"Such language. Ladies don't speak like that, my dear." He sat on the bedside, giving her a considering stare. "Then again, I can recall no time when you've outright claimed to be a lady."

Her game of seduction in tatters, Jocelyn allowed herself to acknowledge the weariness in her body. "If I am no lady, then you are no gentleman."

"Agreed." His wide shoulders lifted in an unconcerned shrug.

She rolled her eyes and glanced at the chair where her cloak was. The effort to drag herself up from the comfortable bed to leave was daunting, but since it was clear that Adhemar had no intention of cooperating...."I'll go, I guess." 

"No, you won't go. I meant what I said. You leave and our bargain is off. I walk away from you forever, leaving you to Thomas' malicious bent." Reaching across her, he snagged the covers and tossed them over her. "Now, perhaps you'd like to tell me your reasoning in coming here. The truth."

She licked her lips. He could handle the truth. "Thomas isn't honorable like my father was. He could well withdraw his offer if another seems better, even if terms are agreed. I don't wish to leave anything to chance. I'd rather be a trophy on your mantle than a trophy for one of the others." Now she swallowed. It sounded to her ears like her throat was closing. "I would present Thomas with a possible pregnancy and no alternative but to honor whatever agreement the two of you have decided so far."

"I see." Getting up, he went to the table, his back to her as he poured liquid into a cup. He stood there, quiet, swirling the liquid around and around. She could see his hand moving the cup.

Jocelyn adjusted the covers about her. "He'll back out. He'd do it to spite me. I'd hoped to be here in your bed when he comes here tomorrow morning. Several people saw me already--"

"I said that I see, Jocelyn. You don't have to go on." The cup was brought to her. "Here. I'm sure you're thirsty. Plotting takes a lot of energy."

She took the cup, drank the liquid down. It was wine, slightly bitter, but tasty. Jocelyn handed the cup back to him, watched him return it to the table. "Thank you." 

"I suggest you get some rest. Thomas will be here in a few hours and we'll have a discussion then."

"If you're not going to--"

"I'm not, so go to sleep."

"I _should_ go." A yawn slipped from her, the sort of jaw popping yawn that made her only too aware how tired she really was. He didn't plan on bedding her, but what did he plan? His expression had slipped into unreadable, whatever he thought hidden from her. She had no doubt that wheels were turning in his mind, a plot of his own forming. 

"No," he stated simply, dismissing the suggestion, and her, by moving to one chair by the fire and staring down into those flames.

Sleep dragged her under with frighteningly quick fingers.

~~~~~~~~~~

Lady Jocelyn had succumbed quickly to sleep, helped along by the sleeping herb Germaine had procured for him earlier that day. Adhemar relaxed in the chair by the fire. For months, he'd suffered from sleeplessness, unable to find proper rest in the late hours of the night, lucky if he could manage to sleep three hours at a time. He was often awake at midnight, long after everyone else was asleep, left alone with his thoughts. The wee hours nearly always brought on a depressing turn. How happy could a man's thoughts be when the gloom of night was all around and silence reigned?

He'd had occasion to mull over his past and the possibilities of the future. The future was where his thoughts had been treading when Jocelyn had shown up at his door. His daughters had arrived that evening and he'd decided to go across the hall to look at them. Sometimes he did that. Occasionally, he had the strangest feeling that he'd dreamed them into his life and they weren't actually real. At those times, he couldn't help but go in and look at them just to see their little faces.

Oh, they were real. He'd been more hands on in raising them than most men he knew, spending time playing children's games with them while their nurse looked on. He loved his daughters. They were a spot of light in his otherwise screwed up life, their innocent trust in him a treasure he kept close to his heart.

A man couldn't be gruff with a child. He couldn't bully a child without feeling lower than low. The change in his manner, that slight softening he knew to be present, had begun the night Genevieve had been born and he'd held her in his arms. Rochelle hadn't even wanted to look at the child, yelling that she wanted the brat away from her so she could sleep. He'd taken Genevieve from the room, named her and made certain she was content with the wet nurse.

Nothing compared to that feeling of holding that tiny squirming bundle to his chest; to seeing the life that Rochelle had nurtured through those long months. Rochelle was by no stretch of the imagination maternal in any way, but she'd done her duty at least. She'd given him first one daughter and then another before deciding she couldn't have any more children. Not wouldn't. Couldn't. Adhemar had known his wife was capable of more children, but by then he was fully sick of her and the constant fighting between them.

His glance strayed to Jocelyn asleep in the bed. She was snoring gently, still sprawled on her back with the covers snug about her. He'd learned in the course of only a few hours, that Jocelyn was the opposite of Rochelle in regards to children. She adored her son. It was her love for her son he'd been thinking about that had prompted his sudden urge to see his daughters. In a way, it was a shame she didn't have more children. That thought had led to his musing that he'd gladly give her more children if only for his own pleasure of having children.

She had looked so panicked those quick seconds after he'd opened the door. Her appearance on the heels of his ponderings had startled him a little. Only a little. Her game was obvious when she'd shed her cloak, but the why had been the question. Why would she do it when it was obvious to him that she still mourned Thatcher deeply? She covered it up rather well with that mercenary streak to run her own life, but the emotion those two had shared was a deep one and not something to dismiss lightly. As much as he didn't want to fight Thatcher for her again, he was doomed to fight the man's ghost.

Oh well. He could do much worse than Jocelyn Thatcher. The beauty he'd admired long years earlier was intact, her figure still slender, though a bit wider through the hips from bearing a child. He didn't mind. He'd come to realize that beauty wasn't everything in a woman and a pretty piece on his arm could spell disaster. 

He'd listen to her, give her that illusion of equality she wanted. Even if he'd wished to honestly have her equal to him, it wasn't as easy as she thought to do so. Politics and religion dictated that the man was the head of everything. Women had some rights and a lot of restrictions placed upon them as a whole. He'd give her enough to make her feel equal and that was it.

Adhemar rolled his head on his neck, stretching in an attempt to ease the tension there. He was awake for the night. Damn. Any chance he'd had of sleep had gone into Jocelyn's drink. Ahh well. He'd sit before the fire and when dawn came, it'd be his move in the game he played with Jocelyn's brother. He wasn't stupid; he knew Thomas was only out for himself and what he could possibly get from Jocelyn's future husband. Such was life.

Closing his eyes, he prayed for a few seconds of sleep before the day began.


	4. Part Four

Title: Venus Revealed

Chapter: 4

Author: Kasey

Email: kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Adhemar finally wins Jocelyn after ten years have gone by.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine and I don't own them.

Pairing: Jocelyn/Adhemar

Notes: This chapter is slightly darker than the previous chapters, but nothing that is deserving of a higher rating. Jocelyn has an issue that needs addressed.

~~~~~~~~~~

There was a warm body beside hers and a cold breeze along her naked back. Jocelyn struggled up to consciousness with as much difficulty as if she'd been drugged, her mind fuzzy, limbs uncooperative. For seconds, unable to reconcile the male presence beside her, she thought that perhaps Will was still alive and she'd had a little much to drink the night before. She could smell leather and soap and the scent beneath of a man; feel the heat of a male body and the firm muscles below the skin of the limbs twined with hers. Unmistakably male limbs. But then her ears tuned in on the outraged gasps and utterances from that cold place behind her.

Opening her eyes, she blinked several times, managing to focus her blurry gaze on Adhemar's face. She stared uncomprehendingly at him, noting his warning expression with a detached disinterest. His fingers gripped her chin, tilted her face a fraction, his lips touching hers with a hard quick brush.

Shaking her head to clear the fogginess away -- which didn't work --, she watched him slide from the warm covers and slip on his breeches. He was as naked as she was. What had happened? The last thing she could remember was lying back on the pillows and closing her eyes, Adhemar ensconced in the chair by the fire. Had he relented and she didn't remember?

Swallowing hard, she attempted to focus her sluggish attention to that harsh voice at her back. Thomas. Of course. Who else would be making such outraged noises as though Adhemar had defiled a virgin and not Thomas' widowed sister? Rolling onto her back, she clutched the sheet to her, one shaking hand pushing her hair from her face.

Thomas was nearly apoplectic in his fury, the words he hurled beginning to make sense to her befuddled mind. He wasn't angry with Adhemar. Oh no, he'd rightly assumed Jocelyn had come here with intent to seduce the man just to spite Thomas and make a fool out of him. He'd managed to grasp her intent with the sort of self-preservation conceited fools had in spades. Rude retorts leapt up from her mind, yet she could not get her tongue to toss them out. This was not normal for her. She never had trouble waking in the morning unless she'd taken a sleeping draught.... 

I _am_ drugged, she thought. Adhemar drugged me. That utter _bastard_! It had to have been that wine, for she'd had nothing else. Slowly, she sat, her body trembling and shoulders bowed, fixing a jaundiced eye upon her brother as he hollered. His fury was amusing in a sort of gallows humor way. Hopefully, his heart would give out and he'd keel over, though she was sadly aware that this wasn't likely to happen. It never did. Unfortunately. God had yet to be so merciful.

"And here I'd thought that perhaps you'd gone out sulking when you didn't show up for mass. But no, you couldn't get here fast enough--"

"Jocelyn was most reluctant and rather angry I'd accepted your offer. An 'arrogant bastard' I believe she called me." Adhemar went around the end of the bed, bending to scoop up what looked like the dress Jocelyn had worn the day before. He held it up, considered it with a smirk and tossed it on the end of the bed. "She can be forceful in her words, I'm sure you're aware of that."

Spittle seemed to stick in her throat when she tried to swallow. 'Arrogant bastard' was a phrase that suited Adhemar rather fully, yet she didn't recall hurling that particular insult at him in recent time. And for that matter, how had her dress gotten here? Jocelyn licked her lips, returning her gaze to the two men. Her thoughts finally managed to get around the numb sensation, lighting upon what was actually happening. Adhemar was playing the game as only he could, being smug and hateful and...she really hated to admit it, brilliant. Thomas' stupidity didn't give him pause in the slightest.

Thomas' eyes narrowed, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. He didn't look as certain as he had a moment earlier. "Aye. She can be quite unfeminine in her speech at times." 

"Yes." Now a lighter cloth was retrieved, held up and dropped back to the ground. "I may have played upon her grief for her dead husband and...persuaded her a bit."

Thomas, always quick on the uptake, stared at Adhemar with a confused expression until the meaning of his words sunk in. Jocelyn could almost hear him mentally repeating Adhemar's words, trying to make sense of what the man was saying. His mouth dropped open. "_You_ seduced _her_? Not the other way around?"

"Anger doesn't last long against nature's helper. A drugged woman is a compliant one. She was very compliant after awhile. I let her yell and scream and rail, then gave her a drink and...violá. No protests." Adhemar gave an ugly sounding laugh, one filled with the smug satisfaction of a dark sort of beginning, intimating that it was unthinkable that he _wouldn't_ drug her. Coming to the bedside, he stretched his hand out, touching her cheek with his fingertips.

Jocelyn obligingly jerked away, as she thought he'd want her to do for effect, drawing her knees up and huddling as though humiliated and frightened.

"You see?"

"I've been waiting years to see her mastered. How beautiful. I should have insisted on her being forced to marry you ten years ago." Thomas withdrew a roll of parchment from his jacket. "I do see. Let's finish the terms, Count Adhemar. She's yours." His enthusiasm and glee was sickening. Jocelyn managed, only barely, to keep from retching in disgust, her lip curling. She swallowed hard to keep the bile down.

Adhemar pulled on a shirt and the two men went to the table, speaking in low tones until Thomas finally stood, his smile triumphant. "Well sister, I'll leave you here, since you're well in hand already. Seeing you like this, I don't even mind returning those lands to your brat."

Though Jocelyn had strained to hear their haggling, she hadn't been able to make out anything specific. She supposed Adhemar would tell her once Thomas had left. She stared at her brother, giving him the best downtrodden and beaten look she could manage. It delighted Thomas to think that she'd been cowed.

"I'll allow Christiana and Miles to stay a few days while arrangements for the wedding are made." How generous, she thought. In moments he was gone and Jocelyn felt months of tension ease from her back and shoulders, knots slipping into nothingness. The weight of Thomas arranging her life to suit him dropped away. Out-maneuvered and he didn't even know it. She was victor. Well, with Adhemar's help.

Adhemar closed and barred the door. Early morning light filtered in through the window, the cries of vendors selling their wares beginning. The one thing she and Thomas had in common, save their parents, was their habit of going to the earliest mass in the mornings. She went to get it over with. Thomas' motive was unknown to her. "Would you like a bath, Jocelyn?" Adhemar ran a hand along his jaw where heavy stubble had darkened it. "I could arrange one to be brought in."

She shook her head, casting a longing eye towards the dress at the end of the bed. She had no wish to have him standing over her as she bathed. That would come soon enough. Her mind still gently whirled from the after effects of the drug and she knew the control she usually maintained over herself was hindered by the last of the drug in her body. She'd not be able to give any scathing retorts until she could think clearly, which would hopefully be soon. Staying this way before him too long in a waking state was not desirous at all. In fact, it was rather like being a tender lamb caught alone by a ravenous wolf. She needed her full wits to deal with him. Jocelyn licked her lips, willing the wool encasing her thoughts to clear away. The endeavor was unsuccessful, mind and tongue remaining stubbornly sluggish.

He brought the surcoat to her and went around the bed, taking up a knife to prepare to shave. "Suit yourself. My daughters will be wanting to come in soon though, so you should rise."

With a cautious glance at him to make sure he wasn't watching her, she slipped on the dress and surcoat that had appeared sometime during the hours she'd slept, keeping her back to her companion. She took her time dressing, pausing whenever the dizziness increased. He must have used a strong dose on her for the after effects to be so strong. A mix of emotions raged through her. Relief that this was over and Thomas had fallen for their deception. Anger that she'd been drugged. There was also a shyness present, for his actions showed her that she didn't know him at all. 

She ran her hands through her long, tangled hair in lieu of a comb. Nicholas Adhemar had taken her plan to embarrass Thomas and kicked it up a notch, making it his own. With a few well-chosen words, he'd managed to convince Thomas that she'd been an unwilling bed partner, thus saving her from a beating. Her brother expected women to be easily seduced and helpless against a determined male. Adhemar had given him his expectation and, in the process, re-affirmed Thomas' remembrances of the Adhemar reputation of a decade past. Thomas wouldn't beat her for being a weak-willed woman, but he would beat her if he thought she'd been intentionally free with herself. The contradiction of that didn't seem to be apparent to him. It never seemed to occur to Thomas that he wasn't nearly as smart as he thought himself to be. He mistakenly thought himself some prize specimen of manhood.

Crouching down, she picked up the nightdress she'd worn, heaving a disappointed sigh. Adhemar had removed it from her sleeping body and rent the front to give the impression he'd ripped it from her. Too bad. She'd really liked the delicate nightdress. Christiana had put a lot of work into it.

"I'll have another made for you. A regrettable loss -- tearing a woman's clothes is much more inefficient than simply removing them -- but it was necessary. I assumed Thomas would require some sort of proof. Torn underclothes were sufficient." He wiped his face with a cloth and sauntered back to her, taking the gown and folding it before setting it on the table.

"You drugged me. Why?" A frown pulled her brows down.

He rolled his eyes. "Your acting skills aren't quite as good as you think they are. I assumed you wouldn't want Thomas to have any suspicions. Without the drug, you would have been tempted to verbally spar with him, thus destroying any headway I'd make in bargaining with him. Don't deny you would have."

"Oh." Her lips began to tremble, the emotions she'd managed to hold in check for hours washing over her. Jocelyn blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry, not to show how scared she really was. Not even when Will had been in the gaol had she been this frightened of the future. It was one thing to give in to her fears when alone and a whole other to let that crack widen enough for Adhemar to see her weakness. She was on the edge though, that damn drug hampering her control over her emotions. She couldn't think clear enough, fast enough to keep it all back and hidden. 

Her face was cupped by his palms, turned to the right and the left. "You're convincing for the most part, I'll give you that. I lived with Rochelle though. You are a mere amateur in dramatics compared to her. It took me a long while to be able to tell when she was lying, so I know what to look for better than most men."

A tear trickled down her cheek, Adhemar wiping it away with a flick of his thumb.

"Don't cry Jocelyn. What reason have you to weep?"

"What reason have I to not," she countered, raising her gaze to meet his.

If she expected some sarcastic quip, she was to be disappointed. This man was different from the one she'd known. He'd grown and changed. He'd matured. "I'll give you several reasons. William Thatcher's son. Your health. Reprieve from your brother's malice. A friend who risked being caught and punished to bring your clothes here." He guided her to a chair, pulled her onto his knees and took up his brush, applying it to her hair with gentle strokes. He didn't yank or pull, slowly working the tangles from the raven tresses. "Yes, Christiana did that. She was here knocking right at dawn, your clothes in a bundle, asking for you. I let her in to reassure her you were alive and well, if sleeping the sleep of the drugged. She took one look at you and asked outright how I planned to deal with Thomas. I told her."

"She worries for me." Jocelyn clasped her hands together on her thighs. It was an odd feeling to have a man who was not Will brushing her hair. Nostalgia rose within her. She'd always loved having her hair brushed. As a small child her mother had sat brushing Jocelyn's hair for long minutes each night. As an adult, first Christiana, then Will had brushed her hair for her. Now Adhemar took up the task, making short work of snarls among the strands with the air of a man quite used to brushing a woman's hair.

"Obviously. It was actually her suggestion to rip the cloth. I'd only thought to remove it from you. She helped strategically place your clothing about the room." Setting the brush down, he placed his arms about her waist, resting his cheek against her shoulder. "She's loyal to you. I believe Christiana would walk through the fires in hell for you if you needed her to. She couldn't disguise her dislike for me and I didn't expect her to. She also didn't bother covering her surprise at my addition to your plan."

There was quiet between them. Christiana would have been surprised. The maid refused to forgive Adhemar for his sins in the past. She claimed him to be the most abhorrent of men. That he would help her lady to deceive Thomas would greatly astonish her.

Jocelyn could hear their breath, almost in sync. He kept her in his embrace, a touch she was finding was no different than when Will had held her that way. If she closed her eyes, she could become lost in memories. It felt good to be held again. She'd always liked the feel of a mans arms about her and these past months without a gentle embrace had left her feeling bereft of affection.

Biting her lip, Jocelyn debated on speaking She was hesitant to do so, to disrupt the calm that had settled over them. However, it was a good idea to know what had been agreed upon so she had no surprises later. "What now?" It wasn't what she'd intended to say, yet it reflected her thoughts perfectly.

Adhemar's arms tightened about her, anchoring her there. "You remain here with me. Your things will be brought over, along with the deeds Thomas appropriated from your son. Those will revert back to Miles and I'll assign an overseer to those lands to care for them until Miles is of age to run them himself. Those are his inheritance. He will not inherit much from me upon my eventual death. If you bear me a son, then he will inherit the lion's share." He paused. "Christiana and Miles will stay where they are until the end of the week, when you and I will be wed in the cathedral. Directly following the ceremony, we'll attend mass and those two will come here prepared to leave for my..._our_ home in Anjou."

The cathedral. Jocelyn had fond memories of that place. She remembered Will riding a horse into the building after her. He'd enquired as to her name and been shooed out by the clergy there. How very ironic that she'd marry Adhemar in that place. "What of the tournament?" she enquired, glancing down at where his hands rested, one on her hip, the other on her thigh. He had capable hands, a steely strength in those long and slender digits. She didn't think she'd mind those hands on her flesh after all. "You're competing."

"I'd see you settled at home before returning to finish the circuit."

"I wish to stay and watch." She didn't really want to watch the tournament. No, it was a tiresome bore. What she wanted, was to watch the people enjoying the games, to maybe recapture the excitement with a new husband at her side. In a way, she wanted to reminisce the past. She wanted to return to a happier, more carefree time, though she knew it wasn't possible to do so. The pain of it would eclipse any of the pleasure and she'd be more miserable than she started out.

A chuckle left him, one of his hands sliding back and up to lift her hair over her right shoulder, exposing the slim column of her neck. "You'd watch the joust? Somehow, I doubt you'd enjoy it as you did before." He kissed the left side of her neck, a brief caress.

She wrenched herself forward and off his lap, turning to stare at him with arms crossed over her breasts. "What's that mean? 'You doubt I'd enjoy it as before?'" Some of the fuzziness about her mind started to lift.

A snort. He leaned back, casually splaying a leg out straight while the other remained bent, also crossing his arms. "It means that Thatcher isn't alive for you to watch, so I doubt that you'd find any true enjoyment in the joust."

Her eyes widened. She didn't say anything, however. 

"It would pain you to stay," he clarified, "when you still mourn for him. You'd watch me joust and dredge up old hatreds. That's not a place we need to revisit, Jocelyn. Believe it or not, I would spare you any excess pain. It's bad enough I know you'll likely cry into your pillow every night missing him, I'd rather not have you return to hating me no matter how mercenary our bargain was."

Jocelyn swallowed hard. He knew she wanted the past. How? How did he know? Was she so transparent to this man that he could know her so quickly? He looked beyond what he saw to what was beneath. She wasn't certain she liked that ability. It had the potential to make her extremely vulnerable before him. Not an enviable position. "I'm not still grieving for Will." She laughed to show how ridiculous the notion was, but that laugh had a horrible hollow sound to it. "I have come out of mourning."

The sadness that had encased her since Will had succumbed to the fever Death had brought returned full force as she stood watching this man she was to marry. She'd managed to push it away for a few hours, but that anguish of her loss came back. It always came back no matter how strongly she decided to push it away. It made her cry at the strangest moments, sucking the joy out of life and keeping her on the edge of actually living her life in full. It wouldn't let go of her. Taking those steps back into life, those few tiny steps, were far more difficult than she dreamed they could be. 

"I'm not mourning him. I'm not." Her voice was petulant, that of a spoiled child refusing to believe a truth that was blindingly obvious. Denial. She could keep denying and never completely accepting. The fairy tale dream didn't end. This was the dream. This was a wondering on her part.

__

No, it's not. It's reality and you damn well know it. 

He leaned forward now, resting his forearms on his thighs and weaving his fingers together. "That's right, keep telling yourself that. Tell yourself long enough and you'll start to believe it. You can probably convince Christiana and perhaps even your son that you are done with grief. They are almost too close to you to see that you do still mourn. Friends often can't see what needs to be seen or say what needs to be said."

Jocelyn turned away. Why did he care anyway? She didn't have to love or care for this man to bear his children. She didn't even have to be happy. Jocelyn hugged herself, shoulders hunching. No, that wasn't right. She'd promised to show the world a happy face in regards to being his wife. It wasn't possible to do that day after day unless she could move into acceptance. She needed to accept the end of the old and the beginning of the new and it seemed she wasn't going to be able to do it by herself.

Another of Wat's favorite rude retorts hovered on her lips. Why couldn't life just be simple? She'd maneuvered herself just where she'd planned and now her own mind was tripping her up. Blast it all. 

"I'm not your friend and I'm telling you to let him go to his grave. Tell me how many months William Thatcher has been buried." He spit out Will's name, not in a malicious way, but rather a deliberately hard and strangely understanding way. It was almost as though he understood what she needed. She didn't need to tell him to help her do this. Part of her was ready and willing and reaching out to him. Another part was shrinking back, refusing to take this last step.

Jocelyn flinched, gulping in a breath. She would hold herself together and tamp down that eager part of her that was being traitorous to Will. She would calmly turn back to Adhemar and give him the answer and not let him intrude upon the most private place inside her. He would not push her. She'd give him arrogance to match his own, refute his charge that she grieved. How could she still mourn? Her will was strong....Her _Will. Oh William._ One tear tread a silent course down her cheek, another close upon it's heels. No. I won't fall apart in front of Adhemar.

Those two parts inside her argued back and forth, both wanting their own way. Out with the old. Let the new come in. It's life.

"How many months," Adhemar repeated, the chair creaking as he stood and came to her, whirling her around with tight hands on her arms. "Tell me." He shook her.

"Almost twelve." She could barely get the whisper out.

"Nearly a year. Have you cried at all? Have you given more than these pretty token tears?"

"No. Not really. There was Miles to put a brave face for, and Roland, Wat and Kate. Christiana. Mostly Miles." It was the honest truth. She'd not let herself feel the entirety of her loss, though she'd spent months in mourning. Each day was survival, moving from one thing to the next, having no enjoyment of life. A sob escaped her and she choked it back. 

He studied her face with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. What was he looking for, those hazel eyes staring probingly into hers? She turned her head, only to have him twist her until he could again look at her face. "You still think he's coming back." It wasn't a question. He stated what he saw reflected in her eyes. 

She was thrust from him, her legs hitting the edge of the mattress. Jocelyn could say nothing. Deep down inside her, there had been a tiny spark of hope that she was dreaming; that Will hadn't died. Rationally, she knew it wasn't truth. She knew he was dead and rotting in a grave outside of London. A part of her didn't want to accept it. The two sides continued to argue within her mind. She collapsed onto the bed she'd only just left a little while earlier.

Adhemar went to the door and opened it. "Germaine!" He called out. Presumably, the man appeared, for she heard him give an order. "Send us some food. I'm going to be awhile here. I want you to take my daughters about the streets. Buy them a trinket or two and tell them I'll see them at the noon meal. Lady Jocelyn and I will inform them then of our upcoming wedding. Send for Christiana and Miles to join us at that time. Those two should be present as well."

"My lord?"

"Jocelyn and I still have a matter to discuss."

The gritted announcement didn't bode well in her mind. Why did he care? 

~~~~~~~~~~

Of all the stubborn women Adhemar had been in contact with over the years, Lady Jocelyn was taking the honored place as the most tenacious. He believed she'd still be loudly proclaiming herself as being free of grief upon the day of judgment if he didn't shake her from it. A more persistent case of denial he'd not seen in years. 

The last case had been when his sister-in-law Abigail had been widowed. She'd kept a place at the table for Henry, had his clothes laid out daily and even took to muttering out loud to him. Adhemar remembered his mother, a woman who'd had her share of grief in her lifetime with all the babies she'd lost and the two husbands she'd buried before marrying his father, slapping Abigail in exasperation at her behavior. She'd made Abigail face the loss by repeatedly telling her Henry wasn't coming back. Finally, the girl had realized it and gone on with her life, now happily remarried.

Drugging Jocelyn was turning out to be the wisest decision he'd made in a long time. He'd been almost dreading the process of dragging her from mourning, but here was his chance to make her face the loss. They'd both be much happier on Friday with the past firmly behind them. He didn't doubt his ability to be cruel enough to cause her to breakdown. She needed to cry and yell and scream at God and fate and, as he'd said, he wasn't her friend. She'd likely call him a horrid beast or some such name before he was through, perhaps another one of those lovely rude retorts she'd uttered earlier.

He could do this. If he could torture a man to death, as he'd done in the Free Companies several times, he could be utterly relentless in making Jocelyn face her loss. Adhemar figured he could have her torn apart emotionally and on the mend by mid-afternoon at the latest. He shut the door behind the men who'd brought their food and moved to look at what was on the trays. His stomach growled in appreciation for the tantalizing smells drifting up and he began filling a plate.

"What do you care?"

He glanced up. Jocelyn had perched herself on the edge of the bed, looking thoroughly miserable. "Come and eat." The plate was set on the opposite side of the table. "The food here is quite palatable." Adhemar set one of the two spoons provided beside the plate and held up his knife, giving her a considering stare before setting it with the spoon. "I suppose I'll trust you not to stick this in me."

"You're not listening to me."

"I hear you, Jocelyn. I simply don't choose to answer the question." His own plate was set across from hers and he moved her cloak off the chair before sitting. "Now come and eat. It's getting colder every second you sit over there." The plan was to feed her, give her the energy to move through this step and into acceptance. He took a few bites. The ham was good, if a bit salty, and the bread was fresh. "Well, if you don't want it," he started, reaching for the plate.

She was there in seconds, grabbing the edge to keep him from taking it.

"Oh, so you are hungry then?"

"You know I am." She began to eat, slowly at first, but with a growing enthusiasm. After the first few bites, she piled eggs, ham, and several slices of the different cheeses on the bread and ate it that way.

Adhemar couldn't suppress a smile. He only ate like that when traveling. Much of the meals could then be eaten while riding, taking little time at all. She caught his grin and frowned before taking a huge, almost defiant bite. "Eat how you wish in private. I don't particularly care if you sandwich all of your meals when we dine alone."

When they'd finished, he set the tray outside the door, closed and barred that door. Then, he turned to her. "Let's discuss grief, Jocelyn, and what it means to you right at this moment."

Resentment flickered in her eyes. Good. She was on her way.


	5. Part Five

Title: Venus Revealed

Chapter: 5

Author: Kasey

Email: kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Adhemar finally wins Jocelyn after ten years have gone by.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine and I don't own them.

Pairing: Jocelyn/Adhemar

Notes: I had more of this that I thought I might include, a list of ideas to continue the tale, but I believe it unnecessary. This story is done and I'll leave _this_ Adhemar and Jocelyn right where they are.

~~~~~~~~~~

He was nearly ready to admit defeat, a crushing blow to his ego. Jocelyn was proving far more stubborn than he'd anticipated. Either that, or he'd grossly overestimated his abilities.

No, Adhemar thought, pursing his lips and shaking his head. That wasn't it. He'd broken down men a helluva lot tougher than this woman. So why wouldn't she let out all of those emotions she'd trapped inside her? What, exactly, was holding her back? It was looking as though it was going to take all of his cunning as both a man and a soldier to drag Jocelyn into the present. Unfortunately, his first instinct of dread had been appropriate. She was practically kicking and screaming in her reluctance to let go of the many months departed William Thatcher.

Why am I still here with her, Adhemar wondered. He didn't have to do this now. She was to be his, _was_ as good as his at this very moment. This purging of her pain could wait. He could let her remain wrapped up and not fully on the healing path. Turning from the window, he looked at her with an impassive gaze, careful not to allow his frustration to show on his face.

Jocelyn was back on the bed. After three hours of pacing and denial, she'd plopped down onto the mattress with her arms crossed, still glaring at him. She'd moved her position while his back was to her. Now, the pillows were all piled behind her back, her knees were drawn up and arms wrapped about her legs. She looked uncomfortable, genuine despair in her eyes. "Please stop," she whispered nearly too low to be heard, voice flat, a slight tremble to the words.

Perhaps he would not be defeated after all. Going to the bed, he placed one knee on the mattress, his hands flat to brace himself and leaned towards her. She didn't turn away, merely continued staring. "What did you say, Jocelyn?"

Her brows drew together, but not with a frown. No. They drew together in an obvious effort to stave off tears. Her lower lip quivered, her breath fast and gulping. Jocelyn shook her head. "Stop." A cough left her. "You've no idea how much it hurts to lose someone you've loved so much....It's like losing a part of you and you can't breath your chest is so tight. You can't help but hope each morning that it was all a bad dream, that no one died and your life has not ended."

She was right. He hadn't lost any great love in his life. Indeed, he'd never given a thought to the different meanings of the word 'love' until Jocelyn had come back into his life. Since meeting with her again, he'd pondered love. Love of a man to woman. Love of a child to parent. Love of a parent to a child. What if....What if death came for one of his daughters? They were the only people in the world he could honestly claim to _love_ more than himself; to love so much that he'd gladly give his life to save theirs. How would he feel in that instance? He imagined the picture, one or both of his beautiful girls dead and cold in a grave.

It was a painful wondering, the very thought of never seeing their smiles or hearing their laughter again pricking at him. He had the urge to run out of the room and find them to make certain they were well, though he knew them safe with Germaine.

Jocelyn was not unreasonable in her mourning.

"You're right, I don't know. I don't know what that feels like, but I am beginning to understand love. Isn't that a start?" She didn't nod or reply to that. Sighing heavily, Adhemar crawled across the bed to sit beside her, knees up and arms resting on them, unmindful of still wearing his shoes. "You know he's gone, Jocelyn, you just need to accept it."

"You've said that already."

"But were you listening? Have you listened to one word I've said, or have I been talking to myself?" She sat back, no longer hunched over, affecting a pose similar to his. Their shoulders touched.

Jocelyn reached up a hand, swept her long hair over her left shoulder, fingers wrapping the ends round and round. He could see the streaks of gray she tried to hide. "I've listened."

"Then why won't you release it all? You know what I've said is truth. You know you need to, and yet you still drag it out, intentionally hurting yourself. Refusing to come out of grief is self destructive. My God, do you truly want to stay in this state?"

Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, a hesitance in her answer. "Don't you know? I had thought you'd guess at my reluctance."

"No, I don't know. Would I be asking if I did?"

Her eyes slipped shut. "I can't be vulnerable before you. If I crumble in the slightest you'll trample me. You're so much like Will was, though I don't think either of you realized how alike you were. So similar and...I have to be strong to maintain myself."

She was afraid of him and she was afraid of being that silent woman society demanded women be. "There's a time to be firm like that Jocelyn, but there's also a time to let others be the strong one. This is one of those times for the latter. I won't be an absent husband. You know what I mean by that. I won't be absent from your thoughts in favor of a ghost. That must change and it must begin now. You've shouldered all of your pain and your sons and it's time to stop. Lean on me. It's one thing a husband is for."

Staring up at him, she gasped, then glanced away. "I can't." 

"You won't. It's not a matter of can or can't, Jocelyn, it's all about want. Do you want to move on? Do you want to live?" Adhemar put an arm around her. She was almost there, almost to the last mountain of grief.

"I do."

"Then let it all go. Cry, scream, yell at the unfairness of it all. Curse if you must."

And then she was beating at his chest with her fists, following the advice he'd given, laying bare her soul and all of the sorrow within. She yelled and she screamed, but still she didn't cry. He closed his eyes and held her. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Jocelyn remained silent. What was there to say? He'd stripped her bare, in more ways than one, over the past few hours, tearing away the masks she'd worn all of her life. She was no longer a daughter, sister, or lady. She was not beloved of anyone or even confident. Those masks were stripped from her with a cool efficiency and only in the last minutes had he shown any frustration at her. A muscle on his jaw had ticked. _Lean on me. It's one thing a husband is for_. His expression had been the last push she needed. Nicholas Adhemar cared. He might try and hide it, but he cared enough to make her face the loss. It was encouraging. 

The masks were gone now. The woman beneath it all was revealed.

Will's Aphrodite, his Venus, was gone.

There was only Jocelyn, frightened and uncertain in the cold light of morning.

"You _will_ live, Jocelyn, though I know it doesn't feel like it right now." Adhemar held her as he would a child, a daughter perhaps, stroking her back with comforting passes of his warm hands. "Mourn. It's alright to do so."

"He's not coming back." She looked up at him, tears flooding her eyes, an unchecked torrent, sobs bursting free. The words left her lips in an air of revelation. Never before had she been able to say it aloud. Over the months, the idea had twisted around in her mind, not allowing her to fully grasp the reality. Nicholas Adhemar was right. Will Thatcher was dead and buried. He was gone. _Her husband was gone_. "He's not...."

"I know." One hand pressed her face to his chest, the other still soothing.

Jocelyn's arms found their way around him and she held on, crying until no more emotion could be forced from her, until she'd accepted her loss. Through a fog, she heard light feminine voices -- children -- enquiring as to why the lady was crying and Adhemar's soft reply for a bit more time with the lady. The conversation continued with the girls, but she didn't pay attention. She also heard Germaine saying there were two visitors waiting below. Sniffling, she eased herself back from Adhemar, surprised when he released her readily.

"Better?" His brows raised.

Jocelyn nodded. "Yes." And she was better, strangely. For the first time in her life, she was no one but herself, and true mourning had begun for a much loved spouse. She accepted. She'd been through the denial, the anger, the bargaining and the depression, though not in that order. She'd gone through it all and come out on the other end with acceptance. It was a start, and a relief to know that Adhemar would not begrudge her her grief. She could begin to genuinely deal with her loss. She would lean on him as he'd suggested.

Lean fingers pushed her hair off her face, straightening the mussed strands before he climbed over her and off the bed. "Do you feel up to meeting my daughters? I fear Germaine didn't keep the news of our impending nuptials to himself. They're anxious to meet you, and I believe Christiana and Miles are also waiting." He held out his hand.

She wiped her eyes, staring at that hand. She saw this man in a different light than previously. Yes, he was still cool and arrogant and mercenary, likely to kill a man for some trivial offense. He was also generous to those he cared for, protective of what he considered his, and complex in ways she'd not tapped the surface of. Life with him would not be boring. She'd need all of her wits to keep on top of his moods. The world was starting to become interesting again and Jocelyn found she couldn't wait to live. Slowly, she stood and reached out, grasping his hand with hers. 

"I'm ready." Head held high, Jocelyn stepped out the door and into her new life.

**__**

FINIS


End file.
